A Thin Ghost and Others

  THE DIARY OF MR. POYNTER

  The sale-room of an old and famous firm of book auctioneers in Londonis, of course, a great meeting-place for collectors, librarians,dealers: not only when an auction is in progress, but perhaps evenmore notably when books that are coming on for sale are upon view. Itwas in such a sale-room that the remarkable series of events beganwhich were detailed to me not many months ago by the person whom theyprincipally affected, namely, Mr. James Denton, M.A., F.S.A., etc.,etc., some time of Trinity Hall, now, or lately, of Rendcomb Manor inthe county of Warwick.

  He, on a certain spring day not many years since, was in London for afew days upon business connected principally with the furnishing ofthe house which he had just finished building at Rendcomb. It may be adisappointment to you to learn that Rendcomb Manor was new; that Icannot help. There had, no doubt, been an old house; but it was notremarkable for beauty or interest. Even had it been, neither beautynor interest would have enabled it to resist the disastrous fire whichabout a couple of years before the date of my story had razed it tothe ground. I am glad to say that all that was most valuable in it hadbeen saved, and that it was fully insured. So that it was with acomparatively light heart that Mr. Denton was able to face the task ofbuilding a new and considerably more convenient dwelling for himselfand his aunt who constituted his whole _menage_.

  Being in London, with time on his hands, and not far from thesale-room at which I have obscurely hinted, Mr. Denton thought that hewould spend an hour there upon the chance of finding, among thatportion of the famous Thomas collection of MSS., which he knew to bethen on view, something bearing upon the history or topography of hispart of Warwickshire.

  He turned in accordingly, purchased a catalogue and ascended to thesale-room, where, as usual, the books were disposed in cases and somelaid out upon the long tables. At the shelves, or sitting about at thetables, were figures, many of whom were familiar to him. He exchangednods and greetings with several, and then settled down to examine hiscatalogue and note likely items. He had made good progress throughabout two hundred of the five hundred lots--every now and then risingto take a volume from the shelf and give it a cursory glance--when ahand was laid on his shoulder, and he looked up. His interrupter wasone of those intelligent men with a pointed beard and a flannel shirt,of whom the last quarter of the nineteenth century was, it seems tome, very prolific.

  It is no part of my plan to repeat the whole conversation which ensuedbetween the two. I must content myself with stating that it largelyreferred to common acquaintances, e.g., to the nephew of Mr. Denton'sfriend who had recently married and settled in Chelsea, to thesister-in-law of Mr. Denton's friend who had been seriouslyindisposed, but was now better, and to a piece of china which Mr.Denton's friend had purchased some months before at a price much belowits true value. From which you will rightly infer that theconversation was rather in the nature of a monologue. In due time,however, the friend bethought himself that Mr. Denton was there for apurpose, and said he, "What are you looking out for in particular? Idon't think there's much in this lot." "Why, I thought there might besome Warwickshire collections, but I don't see anything under Warwickin the catalogue." "No, apparently not," said the friend. "All thesame, I believe I noticed something like a Warwickshire diary. Whatwas the name again? Drayton? Potter? Painter--either a P or a D, Ifeel sure." He turned over the leaves quickly. "Yes, here it is.Poynter. Lot 486. That might interest you. There are the books, Ithink: out on the table. Some one has been looking at them. Well, Imust be getting on. Good-bye, you'll look us up, won't you? Couldn'tyou come this afternoon? We've got a little music about four. Well,then, when you're next in town." He went off. Mr. Denton looked at hiswatch and found to his confusion that he could spare no more than amoment before retrieving his luggage and going for the train. Themoment was just enough to show him that there were four largishvolumes of the diary--that it concerned the years about 1710, and thatthere seemed to be a good many insertions in it of various kinds. Itseemed quite worth while to leave a commission of five and twentypounds for it, and this he was able to do, for his usual agent enteredthe room as he was on the point of leaving it.

  That evening he rejoined his aunt at their temporary abode, which wasa small dower-house not many hundred yards from the Manor. On thefollowing morning the two resumed a discussion that had now lasted forsome weeks as to the equipment of the new house. Mr. Denton laidbefore his relative a statement of the results of his visit totown--particulars of carpets, of chairs, of wardrobes, and of bedroomchina. "Yes, dear," said his aunt, "but I don't see any chintzes here.Did you go to ----?" Mr. Denton stamped on the floor (where else,indeed, could he have stamped?). "Oh dear, oh dear," he said, "the onething I missed. I _am_ sorry. The fact is I was on my way there and Ihappened to be passing Robins's." His aunt threw up her hands."Robins's! Then the next thing will be another parcel of horrible oldbooks at some outrageous price. I do think, James, when I am takingall this trouble for you, you might contrive to remember the one ortwo things which I specially begged you to see after. It's not as if Iwas asking it for myself. I don't know whether you think I get anypleasure out of it, but if so I can assure you it's very much thereverse. The thought and worry and trouble I have over it you have noidea of, and _you_ have simply to go to the shops and order thethings." Mr. Denton interposed a moan of penitence. "Oh, aunt----""Yes, that's all very well, dear, and I don't want to speak sharply,but you _must_ know how very annoying it is: particularly as it delaysthe whole of our business for I can't tell how long: here isWednesday--the Simpsons come to-morrow, and you can't leave them. Thenon Saturday we have friends, as you know, coming for tennis. Yes,indeed, you spoke of asking them yourself, but, of course, I had towrite the notes, and it is ridiculous, James, to look like that. Wemust occasionally be civil to our neighbours: you wouldn't like tohave it said we were perfect bears. What was I saying? Well, anyhow itcomes to this, that it must be Thursday in next week at least, beforeyou can go to town again, and until we have decided upon the chintzesit is impossible to settle upon one single other thing."

  Mr. Denton ventured to suggest that as the paint and wallpapers hadbeen dealt with, this was too severe a view: but this his aunt wasnot prepared to admit at the moment. Nor, indeed, was there anyproposition he could have advanced which she would have found herselfable to accept. However, as the day went on, she receded a little fromthis position: examined with lessening disfavour the samples and pricelists submitted by her nephew, and even in some cases gave a qualifiedapproval to his choice.

  As for him, he was naturally somewhat dashed by the consciousness ofduty unfulfilled, but more so by the prospect of a lawn-tennis party,which, though an inevitable evil in August, he had thought there wasno occasion to fear in May. But he was to some extent cheered by thearrival on the Friday morning of an intimation that he had secured atthe price of L12 10s. the four volumes of Poynter's manuscript diary,and still more by the arrival on the next morning of the diary itself.

  The necessity of taking Mr. and Mrs. Simpson for a drive in the car onSaturday morning and of attending to his neighbours and guests thatafternoon prevented him from doing more than open the parcel until theparty had retired to bed on the Saturday night. It was then that hemade certain of the fact, which he had before only suspected, that hehad indeed acquired the diary of Mr. William Poynter, Squire ofAcrington (about four miles from his own parish)--that same Poynterwho was for a time a member of the circle of Oxford antiquaries, thecentre of which was Thomas Hearne, and with whom Hearne seemsultimately to have quarrelled--a not uncommon episode in the career ofthat excellent man. As is the case with Hearne's own collections, thediary of Poynter contained a good many notes from printed books,descriptions of coins and other antiquities that had been brought tohis notice, and drafts of letters on these subjects, besides thechronicle of everyday events. The description in the sale-cataloguehad given Mr. Denton no idea of the amount of interest which seemed tolie in the book, and he sat up reading in the first of the fourvolu
mes until a reprehensibly late hour.

  On the Sunday morning, after church, his aunt came into the study andwas diverted from what she had been going to say to him by the sightof the four brown leather quartos on the table. "What are these?" shesaid suspiciously. "New, aren't they? Oh! are these the things thatmade you forget my chintzes? I thought so. Disgusting. What did yougive for them, I should like to know? Over Ten Pounds? James, it isreally sinful. Well, if you have money to throw away on this kind ofthing, there _can_ be no reason why you should not subscribe--andsubscribe handsomely--to my anti-Vivisection League. There is not,indeed, James, and I shall be very seriously annoyed if----. Who didyou say wrote them? Old Mr. Poynter, of Acrington? Well, of course,there is some interest in getting together old papers about thisneighbourhood. But Ten Pounds!" She picked up one of the volumes--notthat which her nephew had been reading--and opened it at random,dashing it to the floor the next instant with a cry of disgust as aearwig fell from between the pages. Mr. Denton picked it up with asmothered expletive and said, "Poor book! I think you're rather hardon Mr. Poynter." "Was I, my dear? I beg his pardon, but you know Icannot abide those horrid creatures. Let me see if I've done anymischief." "No, I think all's well: but look here what you've openedhim on." "Dear me, yes, to be sure! how very interesting. Do unpin it,James, and let me look at it."

  It was a piece of patterned stuff about the size of the quarto page,to which it was fastened by an old-fashioned pin. James detached itand handed it to his aunt, carefully replacing the pin in the paper.

  Now, I do not know exactly what the fabric was; but it had a designprinted upon it, which completely fascinated Miss Denton. She wentinto raptures over it, held it against the wall, made James do thesame, that she might retire to contemplate it from a distance: thenpored over it at close quarters, and ended her examination byexpressing in the warmest terms her appreciation of the taste of theancient Mr. Poynter who had had the happy idea of preserving thissample in his diary. "It is a most charming pattern," she said, "andremarkable too. Look, James, how delightfully the lines ripple. Itreminds one of hair, very much, doesn't it. And then these knots ofribbon at intervals. They give just the relief of colour that iswanted. I wonder----" "I was going to say," said James with deference,"I wonder if it would cost much to have it copied for our curtains.""Copied? how could you have it copied, James?" "Well, I don't know thedetails, but I suppose that is a printed pattern, and that you couldhave a block cut from it in wood or metal." "Now, really, that is acapital idea, James. I am almost inclined to be glad that you wereso--that you forgot the chintzes on Monday. At any rate, I'll promiseto forgive and forget if you get this _lovely_ old thing copied. Noone will have anything in the least like it, and mind, James, we won'tallow it to be sold. Now I _must_ go, and I've totally forgotten whatit was I came in to say: never mind, it'll keep."

  After his aunt had gone James Denton devoted a few minutes toexamining the pattern more closely than he had yet had a chance ofdoing. He was puzzled to think why it should have struck Miss Bentonso forcibly. It seemed to him not specially remarkable or pretty. Nodoubt it was suitable enough for a curtain pattern: it ran in verticalbands, and there was some indication that these were intended toconverge at the top. She was right, too, in thinking that these mainbands resembled rippling--almost curling--tresses of hair. Well, themain thing was to find out by means of trade directories, orotherwise, what firm would undertake the reproduction of an oldpattern of this kind. Not to delay the reader over this portion ofthe story, a list of likely names was made out, and Mr. Denton fixed aday for calling on them, or some of them, with his sample.

  The first two visits which he paid were unsuccessful: but there isluck in odd numbers. The firm in Bermondsey which was third on hislist was accustomed to handling this line. The evidence they were ableto produce justified their being entrusted with the job. "Our Mr.Cattell" took a fervent personal interest in it. "It's 'eartrending,isn't it, sir," he said, "to picture the quantity of reelly lovelymedeevial stuff of this kind that lays well-nigh unnoticed in many ofour residential country 'ouses: much of it in peril, I take it, ofbeing cast aside as so much rubbish. What is it Shakespearesays--unconsidered trifles. Ah, I often say he 'as a word for us all,sir. I say Shakespeare, but I'm well aware all don't 'old with methere--I 'ad something of an upset the other day when a gentleman camein--a titled man, too, he was, and I think he told me he'd wrote onthe topic, and I 'appened to cite out something about 'Ercules and thepainted cloth. Dear me, you never see such a pother. But as to this,what you've kindly confided to us, it's a piece of work we shall takea reel enthusiasm in achieving it out to the very best of our ability.What man 'as done, as I was observing only a few weeks back to anotheresteemed client, man can do, and in three to four weeks' time, allbeing well, we shall 'ope to lay before you evidence to that effect,sir. Take the address, Mr. 'Iggins, if you please."

  Such was the general drift of Mr. Cattell's observations on theoccasion of his first interview with Mr. Denton. About a month later,being advised that some samples were ready for his inspection, Mr.Denton met him again, and had, it seems, reason to be satisfied withthe faithfulness of the reproduction of the design. It had beenfinished off at the top in accordance with the indication I mentioned,so that the vertical bands joined. But something still needed to bedone in the way of matching the colour of the original. Mr. Cattellhad suggestions of a technical kind to offer, with which I need nottrouble you. He had also views as to the general desirability of thepattern which were vaguely adverse. "You say you don't wish this to besupplied excepting to personal friends equipped with a authorizationfrom yourself, sir. It shall be done. I quite understand your wish tokeep it exclusive: lends it a catchit, does it not, to the suite?What's every man's, it's been said, is no man's."

  "Do you think it would be popular if it were generally obtainable?"asked Mr. Denton.

  "I 'ardly think it, sir," said Cattell, pensively clasping his beard."I 'ardly think it. Not popular: it wasn't popular with the man thatcut the block, was it, Mr. 'Iggins?"

  "Did he find it a difficult job?"

  "He'd no call to do so, sir; but the fact is that the artistictemperament--and our men are artists, sir, every man of them--trueartists as much as many that the world styles by that term--it's aptto take some strange 'ardly accountable likes or dislikes, and herewas an example. The twice or thrice that I went to inspect hisprogress: language I could understand, for that's 'abitual to him, butreel distaste for what I should call a dainty enough thing, I did not,nor am I now able to fathom. It seemed," said Mr. Cattell, lookingnarrowly upon Mr. Denton, "as if the man scented something almostHevil in the design."

  "Indeed? did he tell you so? I can't say I see anything sinister in itmyself."

  "Neether can I, sir. In fact I said as much. 'Come, Gatwick,' I said,'what's to do here? What's the reason of your prejudice--for I cancall it no more than that?' But, no! no explanation was forthcoming.And I was merely reduced, as I am now, to a shrug of the shoulders,and a _cui bono_. However, here it is," and with that the technicalside of the question came to the front again.

  The matching of the colours for the background, the hem, and the knotsof ribbon was by far the longest part of the business, andnecessitated many sendings to and fro of the original pattern and ofnew samples. During part of August and September, too, the Dentonswere away from the Manor. So that it was not until October was well inthat a sufficient quantity of the stuff had been manufactured tofurnish curtains for the three or four bedrooms which were to befitted up with it.

  On the feast of Simon and Jude the aunt and nephew returned from ashort visit to find all completed, and their satisfaction at thegeneral effect was great. The new curtains, in particular, agreed toadmiration with their surroundings. When Mr. Denton was dressing fordinner, and took stock of his room, in which there was a large amountof the chintz displayed, he congratulated himself over and over againon the luck which had first made him forget his aunt's commission andhad then put into his hands thi
s extremely effective means ofremedying his mistake. The pattern was, as he said at dinner, sorestful and yet so far from being dull. And Miss Denton--who, by theway, had none of the stuff in her own room--was much disposed to agreewith him.

  At breakfast next morning he was induced to qualify his satisfactionto some extent--but very slightly. "There is one thing I ratherregret," he said, "that we allowed them to join up the vertical bandsof the pattern at the top. I think it would have been better to leavethat alone."

  "Oh?" said his aunt interrogatively.

  "Yes: as I was reading in bed last night they kept catching my eyerather. That is, I found myself looking across at them every now andthen. There was an effect as if some one kept peeping out between thecurtains in one place or another, where there was no edge, and I thinkthat was due to the joining up of the bands at the top. The only otherthing that troubled me was the wind."

  "Why, I thought it was a perfectly still night."

  "Perhaps it was only on my side of the house, but there was enough tosway my curtains and rustle them more than I wanted."

  That night a bachelor friend of James Denton's came to stay, and waslodged in a room on the same floor as his host, but at the end of along passage, halfway down which was a red baize door, put there tocut off the draught and intercept noise.

  The party of three had separated. Miss Denton a good first, the twomen at about eleven. James Denton, not yet inclined for bed, sat himdown in an arm-chair and read for a time. Then he dozed, and then hewoke, and bethought himself that his brown spaniel, which ordinarilyslept in his room, had not come upstairs with him. Then he thought hewas mistaken: for happening to move his hand which hung down over thearm of the chair within a few inches of the floor, he felt on the backof it just the slightest touch of a surface of hair, and stretching itout in that direction he stroked and patted a rounded something. Butthe feel of it, and still more the fact that instead of a responsivemovement, absolute stillness greeted his touch, made him look overthe arm. What he had been touching rose to meet him. It was in theattitude of one that had crept along the floor on its belly, and itwas, so far as could be collected, a human figure. But of the facewhich was now rising to within a few inches of his own no feature wasdiscernible, only hair. Shapeless as it was, there was about it sohorrible an air of menace that as he bounded from his chair and rushedfrom the room he heard himself moaning with fear: and doubtless he didright to fly. As he dashed into the baize door that cut the passage intwo, and--forgetting that it opened towards him--beat against it withall the force in him, he felt a soft ineffectual tearing at his backwhich, all the same, seemed to be growing in power, as if the hand, orwhatever worse than a hand was there, were becoming more material asthe pursuer's rage was more concentrated. Then he remembered the trickof the door--he got it open--he shut it behind him--he gained hisfriend's room, and that is all we need know.

  It seems curious that, during all the time that had elapsed since thepurchase of Poynter's diary, James Denton should not have sought anexplanation of the presence of the pattern that had been pinned intoit. Well, he had read the diary through without finding it mentioned,and had concluded that there was nothing to be said. But, on leavingRendcomb Manor (he did not know whether for good), as he naturallyinsisted upon doing on the day after experiencing the horror I havetried to put into words, he took the diary with him. And at hisseaside lodgings he examined more narrowly the portion whence thepattern had been taken. What he remembered having suspected about itturned out to be correct. Two or three leaves were pasted together,but written upon, as was patent when they were held up to the light.They yielded easily to steaming, for the paste had lost much of itsstrength, and they contained something relevant to the pattern.

  The entry was made in 1707.

  "Old Mr. Casbury, of Acrington, told me this day much of young Sir Everard Charlett, whom he remember'd Commoner of University College, and thought was of the same Family as Dr. Arthur Charlett, now master of ye Coll. This Charlett was a personable young gent., but a loose atheistical companion, and a great Lifter, as they then call'd the hard drinkers, and for what I know do so now. He was noted, and subject to severall censures at different times for his extravagancies: and if the full history of his debaucheries had bin known, no doubt would have been expell'd ye Coll., supposing that no interest had been imploy'd on his behalf, of which Mr. Casbury had some suspicion. He was a very beautiful person, and constantly wore his own Hair, which was very abundant, from which, and his loose way of living, the cant name for him was Absalom, and he was accustom'd to say that indeed he believ'd he had shortened old David's days, meaning his father, Sir Job Charlett, an old worthy cavalier.

  "Note that Mr. Casbury said that he remembers not the year of Sir Everard Charlett's death, but it was 1692 or 3. He died suddenly in October. [Several lines describing his unpleasant habits and reputed delinquencies are omitted.] Having seen him in such topping spirits the night before, Mr. Casbury was amaz'd when he learn'd the death. He was found in the town ditch, the hair as was said pluck'd clean off his head. Most bells in Oxford rung out for him, being a nobleman, and he was buried next night in St. Peter's in the East. But two years after, being to be moved to his country estate by his successor, it was said the coffin, breaking by mischance, proved quite full of Hair: which sounds fabulous, but yet I believe precedents are upon record, as in Dr. Plot's _History of Staffordshire_.

  "His chambers being afterwards stripp'd, Mr. Casbury came by part of the hangings of it, which 'twas said this Charlett had design'd expressly for a memorial of his Hair, giving the Fellow that drew it a lock to work by, and the piece which I have fasten'd in here was parcel of the same, which Mr. Casbury gave to me. He said he believ'd there was a subtlety in the drawing, but had never discover'd it himself, nor much liked to pore upon it."

  * * * * *

  The money spent upon the curtains might as well have been thrown intothe fire, as they were. Mr. Cattell's comment upon what he heard ofthe story took the form of a quotation from Shakespeare. You may guessit without difficulty. It began with the words "There are morethings."

  AN EPISODE OF CATHEDRAL HISTORY